Ars Amatoria
by Nagiana
Summary: Dinah Snow has come down to Rapture for a reason - a mission that has been gnawing at her for years. And she is determined to see that mission through, even if she has to join forces with Rapture's own resident Devil, himself, to see it done.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Nagiana here, and this is my second foray into the BioShock fandom. My first story here was . . . less than memorable so here I am with a second go, with an entirely new OC. Hopefully she gets a little bit better reception than the last one.**

**One important thing: flamers WILL not be tolerated. I love reviews and I hope you guys leave a lot - reviews with constructive criticism is my bread and butter and I love them dearly! That's how I grow as a writer, if I am given constructive criticism and told how to improve. Telling me my OC sucks ass and that I should just give up, is considered a flame. However, I've found that if you threaten to take those flames and tear them apart at the beginning of every chapter for everyone to see (and then DO if they're stupid enough to try it) is a little bit of a damper. Those jackasses who flame and then leave them as anonymous reviews so that you can't track them down, still don't like to see their poorly chosen anonymous name right beside a big long chewing out. You've been warned.**

**All that aside, if you do like my fic, if you do have ideas on how it can better, then by all means, send me a review! If its good, if its constructive criticism, then I won't bite. In fact, I'll love you a lot and give you a cookie :) **

**Read, review and enjoy!**

**- Nagiana**

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><p>"And what's ya name again, doll?"<p>

"Snow . . . Dinah Snow. Not Die-nah, but Dee-nah. Just remove the 'H' and you got it."

Frank Fontaine turned his eyes onto her upon her words being spoken in a soft, lilting tone that, quite frankly, he didn't think he could ever get enough of. When he first found her, was not important, but where, certainly was. It had been in Fort Frolic – right outside of the theater after bearing witness to yet another one of Sandor Cohen's atrocities. She had been leaning against the railing overlooking the first floor, clad in a simple white blouse and black pencil skirt. Black stockings had complimented the ensemble _and _her rather marvelous legs. In fact, it was the same outfit she was wearing right at that moment, as she sat there across from him in his office during a job interview for the coveted position of his secretary.

When he first caught sight of her, he had immediately taken notice of the way her hips had been swaying back and forth, like they were dancing to an invisible tune in her head that only she could hear. A cigarette had been dangling from between her fingers by a black plastic cigarette holder. When she turned around to gaze at him, all pale, ivory skin, short, ebony black hair, scarlet painted lips and white-blue eyes surrounded in ink black kohl, he knew he had been struck dumb for the first time in years.

He nodded at her words. She had been escorted in by his two bodyguards – two meatheads named Doogie and Max who couldn't do the most basic of math but knew a thousand ways to kill or seriously maim someone – nine hundred and ninety of which could be made to look like accidents. Understandably, Frank Fontaine could occasionally utilize such men, so they were useful to him. They were also there to cover his ass in a firefight, but those were rare in Rapture. No one wanted to disturb the fragile peace of the underground utopia that was Andrew Ryan's incestuous love child with his own overvalued genius.

She had seemed completely unfazed when she first entered the luxurious surrounding of his office – had almost seemed to turn her nose up at it all, in fact. It had been a motion that made Frank smile. This was a lady who was used to fine things. She had either grown up with money, or had married into it. And judging by the fact that no diamond ring graced her delicate wedding finger, he would guess the first one was the correct one. Neither, had she been fazed by being escorted into his office by two bodyguards, which meant that she was used to those, too. Her father had been powerful or dangerous or had enemies – likely all three. Mob, probably, but possibly also a businessman who had made one too many bad decisions and had pissed off one too many people he shouldn't have. Only question was: why was such a pretty little thing like her, in Rapture?

He sat there, watching her for a moment - observing her. He watched as she casually took out a cigarette and placed it in-between her ruby stained lips without the holder she had carried before. She arched an expectant brow at him and his smile grew just a little bit bigger in reply. After picking up the stainless steel lighter sitting on his desk, he leaned over to her and flicked it, the flame rising high in-between them. She held the tip of her cigarette in the middle of it for a moment before he popped it close, extinguishing the flame. The two of them then sat back in their chairs. He continued to watch her as he plopped the lighter back onto his desk and as she took a long, slow drag, her eyeing her cigarette instead of him.

Fontaine had known many smokers in his life. Hell, he smoked cigars on a regular basis, but _no one _had ever smoked a cigarette quite like Dinah Snow did at that moment. He knew people who smoked a cigarette in nervous little puffs - like it was the last one they would ever have. He knew people who smoked with an anger that only hinted at a hidden vendetta they were forced to take out on the poor thing stuck in-between their fingers. But Dinah . . . Dinah smoked her cigarette like she was kissing a lover. And when she would suck on that cigarette, hollowing her cheeks as she did so, and then turn her eyes onto him, Fontaine found that he couldn't help but quickly change his mind. When she was just sitting there across from him, smoking just for the fuck of it, Dinah Snow – with her bedroom eyes and her ruby painted lips and her hollowed cheeks - smoked like she about to get on her knees in front of him, undo his pants and then blow him.

Frank Fontaine didn't know if he had _ever _been as captivated by a woman as he was by Dinah Snow, at that moment.

And that was saying something. He _was _Frank Fontaine, after all.

After a moment of silently going through the thin file of resumes she had brought along with her (something that blessedly kept his gaze off of her) he heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. He observed her smoke for a moment again, determined to keep his thoughts out of the gutter for as long as he could, before finally speaking: "Were ya ever a secretary before, doll?" He asked and she immediately arched an ever-so-slight condescending brow at him at the nickname he had chosen to use for her. Then, she slowly shook her head.

"I can't say that I have, Mr. Fontaine."

"Please, Frank!"

"With all due respect – I don't think so."

"Please, I insist!" He spoke and she gazed at him for a moment before taking another drag of her cigarette.

"I think I'll stick with Mr. Fontaine for now." She finally answered him, her voice low and lilting and _damn _if it didn't do all kinds of shit for him!

He nodded, acquiescing – knowing that he wouldn't get anywhere with that for now – before glancing down at her file again. "So what _have _ya done?"

She sighed and uncrossed her legs before re-crossing them the other way. It was done slowly and he forced himself to keep his eyes on her face instead of what color panties she was wearing. "I was a waitress for a while at Pharaoh's Fortune. I quit. Then I had a job at Eve's Garden bartending. I quit that one too but I can make a mean Rusty Nail if your into that kinda thing." She told him and Fontaine arched an amused eyebrow.

"Ya quit jobs often?" He asked and she arched an eyebrow as well as she took another drag of her cigarette.

"Not if they pay me well enough. That, and it always helps if the boss is easy to look at," She shook her head then and released a bitter laugh. "I also got tired of constantly being groped by scuzzy guys in cheap suits." She replied, her voice coming out silken. It took him a moment after that, but eventually, Fontaine knew what was happening. He chuckled and got to his feet then, where he moved around the massive mahogany desk to stand beside her. He grasped her chin with his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look up at him. Her eyes darkened with anger and he could tell words of irritation were bubbling up on her tongue, but he spoke before she could.

"Miss. Snow, do ya really think ya could come into _my _office reekin' of Possession and think ya could get the jump on me?" He tsked. "It's amateurish, doll. I have to say, I'm disappointed in ya."

Her eyes widened as his words as she yanked her chin out of his fingers. "How did you know?" She asked, her tone belaying the shock she felt, and he gave a bark of a laugh.

"I had the damn things created, didn't I? I was the creative head behind 'em, I was the one who put forth the money _needed _to make 'em. Knowin' that, ya'd _think _I'd be able to recognize one when faced with it, right?"

Dinah stayed silent at that, wondering if she had fucked up by doing such a stupid little thing, but was surprised when Fontaine gently grasped her chin in his fingers again and tilted her head back up so that their eyes could meet again. "Lucky for ya, doll, that I happen to like a woman with a little bit of gumption in her. Ya hired, but ya try to turn a trick like that on me again, and I'd . . . _hate_ to see what these two fine gentleman standin' behind ya, would do to such a pretty face like ya's . . ."

Dinah swallowed hard at his warning words, but found herself quite unable to tear her eyes away from his in order to spare a glance at the two hulking goons standing behind them. She did, however, gently remove her chin from his fingers and blow another issue of smoke towards him. Her lips puckered slightly and she saw the smirk that crossed his face as he shook his head and returned to his seat behind his desk.

Fontaine gave a chuckle as he began rolling up the cuffs of his shirt, eventually ending and buttoning them above his elbow. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think that ya were tryin' to seduce me," He arched an amused brow. "_Are_ ya tryin' to seduce me, Miss. Snow?" He asked, and Dinah arched a coquettishly amused brow that almost matched his.

"That depends, Mr. Fontaine . . . is it working?"

Fontaine grinned and laughed as he leaned forward over his desk. His elbows appeared on the surface as he slid an expensively decorated case towards him. Dinah sat there, one arm crossed underneath her breasts while the other stood in the air, the cigarette burning down in-between her pointer and middle finger. Her eyes ran along his well-built forearms, corded with muscle and sinew underneath tight flesh, and swallowed hard. Eventually, she tore her eyes away from his arms and placed them on the box in front of him. The case was wood and the face was printed with the words, "Le Marquis D'Époque". It was a case of their finest, most expensive Havana cigars.

"If ya want my opinion, doll, ya didn't need to come in here smellin' up to the gills with Possession. Those eyes of ya's were more than enough to get the job," He looked at her and grinned then. The sight made her heart give a strange little jump in her chest. "But I'm Frank Fontaine and I haven't just been around the block – I _own _the block. And ya – _beautiful_ as ya are, Dinah - will need to try a _little_ bit harder to seduce me. A fuck without the chase is boring. I don't look for boring. I look for stimulating."

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><p>Dinah heaved an exhausted sigh as she stepped down from the bathysphere hub and moved down the cobblestoned street towards the Artemis Suites. She passed by the busy Apollo Square but didn't give a second glance at the people crowded around the space. She was working for Frank Fontaine now – soon, she wouldn't need to have anything to do with Apollo Square or Artemis Suites.<p>

Frank Fontaine . . . Dinah had to admit it - Fontaine was probably about the best damn good looking man she had seen in _ages_! When she had first caught sight of him in Fort Frolic, she had almost been unable to tear her eyes away from him! He was impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that just begged for your legs to be thrown over them in the heat of the moment. He also possessed a muscular body fit for a Greek God, and the most beautiful brown eyes she had ever seen on a man. They were eyes that also screamed out how he was _not _the type of man you ever wanted to take back home to momma.

A gaggle of laughing children ran past her, almost knocking her down and causing her to have an almost fumbling grip on the bag she was holding from Central Square Bistro that contained her pot pie. She scowled and wanted to yell back at the ruffians that they better get home before the Big Daddies took them, but refrained from it, her eyes growing wide, instead. One of the children for a split second resembled her Liza, and she balked and became speechless. It had been a long time since she thought of that name – since she thought of the kid who had carried that name – that it floored her. She watched them go for a moment before turning around on her heels and resuming at a fast pace to her apartment in the Artemis Suites. That was it - she was done for the day. She was too tired and was starting to think of things she didn't want to think of. She would go home, eat her food, take a shower, and then go to bed.

"He-ee-ey, Dinah, there you are! Where you've been all day, girl, huh?"

Dinah released a groan and a roll of her eyes as she opened the door to the lobby, only to be waylaid on her way to her mailbox by a fat, greasy pig who worked down on Hephaestus level as a mechanic.

He also pronounced her name as 'Die-nah.'. That alone was enough for her to hate him if she didn't live below him and knew he was also nothing more but a drunkard who beat up on his poor, defenseless wife whenever he felt in the mood. And apprehend every woman who crossed his path in a desperate bid to inquire if they had standards low enough to sleep with him.

Giving him a tight smile, she nodded a half-hearted greeting. Darting around him, she hurriedly moved over to her mailbox. "Oh, Patrick, hi. I was, uh, at a place called, 'That's None of Your Business'. You know, it's down the street on the corner of 'Leave Me Alone' and 'Fuck Off'?"

Patrick laughed at her words and leaned on the wall of steel mailboxes beside her. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of oil and oniony sweat that coated him and forced herself to keep from gagging. Opening her mailbox, she quickly jerked out the mail held within. Bent on ignoring him, she quickly sorted through it and after tossing the junk in the nearby trashcan, ripped open the yellow envelope with the return address of Fontaine Futuristics. Quickly scanning the letter, she broke out in a broad beam and turned that broad beam onto Patrick.

"You know, Patrick, it was a joy living underneath you. Actually, no it wasn't – but anyway! You mine-as-well say goodbye now, 'cause I ain't gonna be living here much longer!" She told him and he nodded, looking a tad confused as he followed her down the hallway to the staircase that would lead to the second floor and her apartment.

"And why's that?"

"'Cause that was a letter from my new boss. I've got a job – a well-_paying _one – and I doubt he'll want me living me down here for much longer."

"Who's your boss?" He asked, and Dinah continued to beam as she turned around to face him.

"Frank Fontaine himself. I'm his new secretary, you see? Which means, if you look at my ass or my tits one more time before I get the fuck out of here – if you flirt with me, talk to me, Hell – if you even lay so much as a _hand _on your wife before I'm out of here, then I can assure you that you'll be paying a visit to one or _both_ of Mr. Fontaine's goons, you hear me?" A look of fear flitted across his features then, and she smiled brightly. "Have a good night, Patrick. And do yourself a favor – lay off the bottle for a while, huh?"

She turned and left him then, a beam remaining on her face all the way down the hall to the door to her apartment. She hugged the letter from Fontaine to her chest as if it was something priceless, and when she reached her door, she set down her bag of food just long enough to fit her key in the lock. The door slid open with a screech that was usual for all the doors in the building, and she picked up the bag and darted inside. The door closed behind her and she locked it before shrugging off her coat and throwing it on the nearby ratty armchair. Depositing her bag of food on the table, she reread the letter in her hands a lot less quickly than she had beforehand.

Frank Fontaine was indeed her man. The letter from him told her to report to him tomorrow morning at eight thirty for her job briefing. Before that, she had received a letter asking her to report to his office the next day for a job interview – a reply to a letter she had sent _months _ago. And yeah, she _might _have known it had something to do with how she looked. And yeah, she _might _have known where he was going to be that night and _conveniently _placed herself in his path, but hey – a girl had bills to pay, right? And even in the dream world of Rapture, one still had bills to pay.

And she hadn't been lying – it certainly helped when your employers paid you what he did _and _happened to look the way he did, as well.

She placed the letter down onto the table and kicked off her heels before withdrawing her pot pie from its bag. Removing the cover, she quickly stirred it. Picking it up and taking a bite, she moved over to her window that looked out over a big vast expanse of nothingness beyond. She supposed normal people would have felt flustered and tiny by having such a view, but Dinah wasn't like normal people.

Fontaine wasn't either. In fact, he was one of the most cocky, confident sons-of-bitches she had ever met, and she happened to despise men like that with a passion. She liked men she could control – men who would do whatever she asked with the bat of an eyelash and the snap of her fingers. It was easier that way. But with Fontaine . . . something told her Fontaine would not _nearly _be as ready to do whatever she said at the drop of a hat. In fact, he'd need a reason . . . in triplicate. His bullish temper was also legendary within the glass and steel walls of Rapture, as well as his extramarital business practices. Here in the lower areas – Pauper's Drop, as well as Apollo Square - the man was known as a very dangerous smuggler and drug kingpin – Rapture's own resident Mafia Don with absolutely no competition except for occasionally Ryan. Whatever illegal thing you could think of, and Frank Fontaine was probably your man to get it done. Men like that, were not often known to bow down to the fickle whims of women.

She finished with her food and turned around, where she moved back over to the table. Worrying at a piece of meat she had gotten wedged between her teeth, she replaced the cover on the pot pie before sticking it into her fridge. Despite his infuriating cockiness, though, Fontaine continued to be her man for what she needed – for what she had come _down_ to Rapture to do. And getting hired as his secretary was exactly the right move she needed to get it done. For what _she_ needed to get done, she needed a man just as soulless and cold as she was.

She glanced down at the letter and wondered at who had typed her that letter. Had he done it himself or had he paid some other guy's secretary to do it? Either way, she couldn't help but smile at the thought. Yeah . . . Frank Fontaine was _definitely _her kind of man for the job.

She picked up the towel and was on her way to the showers when she paused. Her eyes caught on the black and white photo sitting on her dresser – the black and white photo of a small girl, beaming beside a dog that could have been from the same litter as Lassie. Long black hair and brown eyes and a big, bright smile that could warm the coldest person's heart . . . Liza had been a beautiful little girl who loved hamming it up for the camera, but Liza wasn't who she should be thinking of at that moment. Moving over to it, she gently flipped it down before swallowing heavily. She would come to Rapture to do what she needed to do, and then she'd get the Hell out of Dodge.

And if it took getting Frank Fontaine into bed a couple of times to do it, then Dinah wouldn't complain about that _too _much, especially if he was as good in bed as he looked like he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am somewhat disappointed in this chapter. The second part in particular was difficult to write and I went through so many re-writes before eventually settling on this version. And it doesn't make me happy. At all. Review me and tell me what you think, guys.**

**Heartless demon wolf: Thanks so much for your review! And I'm glad you like Dinah - I'm liking her a lot too. I knew Diana was the Roman equivalent of Artemis, but I didn't know Dinah was - that's interesting. And I don't know why I made her a smoker, she just . . . seemed like one when I planning out her character, ha ha. Rapture was created in 1941 and Frank dies (really dies) in 1960. So that left a really, really awkward time period for me to get things set up and to get this story done in, and you'll see more of why that was hard for me, later. Hope you continue keeping up with me :)**

**Remember: Read, review and enjoy!**

**- Nagiana**

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><p>Fontaine arrived at his office early that morning, to find Dinah already there and laying out his customary morning bourbon and cigar and silver seashell ashtray on his desk. He pursed his lips as he pulled off his suit jacket. He handed it to her when she moved to meet him, and she folded it over her arm as she followed him to his desk. "Why are ya in my office, Dinah? I don't like anyone bein' in my office without me." He told her, his voice hiding a dangerous tone to it that she really didn't like. She gave him a smile, nevertheless, though, and gestured to Doogie standing ever-silently by the door.<p>

"But I wasn't alone! Doogie let me in. He told me what you like in the mornings and he's been watching me the entire time – shadowing my every move. Your bourbon is unpoisoned and your cigar is straight from the box. So unless you pissed off the guy in Cuba who rolled your cigar, you should be good to go."

Fontaine gave her a small smile before shooting a nod to Doogie. "Don't let it happen again, okay, doll?" She nodded as the massive man standing by the door, returned the nod and left the office then, leaving them quite alone. This didn't shock her. Fontaine wasn't exactly a small guy and by the air he carried, quite obviously he could take care of himself if the situation called for it. That and the oscillating turret outside that you needed an ID badge to get by, was also pretty intimidating.

She also loved the look of his office. Shaped like a 'T', the interior was dark, the walls and flooring made up of a dark, expensive wood. A long strip of emerald green carpet ran up the length of his office to the steps that led up to his desk and the rest of the office. The ceiling was high glassed and domed, through which swirling cerulean light streamed in. It blended with the soft light from sconces on the wall, giving it an almost smoky appearance. A giant stuffed bear reared behind his desk – a powerful, fearsome animal to match a powerful, fearsome man.

She moved to hang his coat up on the nearby coat-rack before returning to him. Fontaine had been rolling up his sleeves again as he took a seat in his chair. Picking up the tumbler of bourbon, he took a sip as she took a hovering stance beside him, hand clasped demurely behind her back. He glanced at her for a moment and allowed his eyes to rake over her frame, a motion she acted like she didn't notice but which caused a slight curve of a smile to grace her ruby painted lips. Her curves were outlined in a tight red dress with thick black belt, as well as that black hose of hers and black peep-toe pumps. She looked as good as always.

He eventually tore his gaze away from her and lowered it instead onto the opened book lying in front of him. For a moment, he was confused as to why it was sitting in front of him. "Okay, now what am I lookin' at, doll?"

She smiled and stepped closer to him. "The old books from Fontaine Fisheries. I plan on starting new ones, by the way, and done up in my own way so there's less confusion for me later on. But I also took the liberty of going through the old books to better acquaint myself with the numbers. And what I found, was interesting."

Fontaine gave a laugh. "Doll, when did ya get here this morning?"

She gave a dismissive laugh. "That doesn't matter right now, Mr. Fontaine. What _does _matter, is the numbers and how interesting they are to me."

Fontaine sighed and threw his hands up. "Fine, I'll bite. How are they so interestin'?"

Dinah brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before leaning over him slightly. With her hand on the back of his chair supporting her weight, she used the other one to point out her findings. He became keenly aware of the smell of her at that moment – of a fruity, feminine perfume, as well as the intoxicating sight of ivory cleavage appearing right out of the corner of his eye. He ignored the tempting sight, however, figuring if this was as big as she was alluding it was, she might be in for a bonus much sooner than he had planned.

"Here's the last four months. Notice anything weird about them?"

It took a moment of him studying the numbers before he recoiled, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Yeah, a . . . subtle withdrawin' of money from the accounts throughout the month . . ." He spoke, and she nodded.

"At first, it was so subtle, I naturally attributed it to you. Maybe you were taking out a little money every now and then to keep in your home safe or in one your safes here – feathering your nest, so-to-speak. Or maybe you don't trust the banks, maybe you don't trust Ryan who inadvertently _owns _the banks -"

"Both." He muttered with a snort of laughter, and she smiled as she continued:

"Whatever it was, I ignored it at first. But then I noticed there's a pattern. See here? The two months previous? Absolutely clean. This didn't alarm me either – I figured you might have just recently started withdrawing the money. But then I went back even further. The four months _previous _to those two clean months, shows the same subtle withdrawing of money throughout the month."

"And the two months before those four months are probably clean, as well, right?" He asked, quickly flipping the pages back two months to check, himself. Dinah smiled and nodded.

"Exactly. And it's been going on for the past year – same pattern – same M.O. Which only means one thing . . ."

"Some bastard's been stealin' from me. And _actually_ tryin' to play it smart, too," He nodded and leaned back in his chair then, where he placed his fingers at his lips. There was a mutinous look on his face and immediately, Dinah felt happy that anger wasn't being directed at her. He sat there for a minute, thinking, before shaking his head. "This has to be an inside job, Dinah. Who else would be able to get to my accounts without a red flag poppin' up?" Dinah shook her head.

"I thought about that, and Fontaine, I hate to say this, but this might not _just _be an inside job. Someone at the bank could have used your account number to start withdrawing money, thinking you wouldn't catch them, or their superiors wouldn't or their computers wouldn't," She hesitated then. "And it's like I said, the banks themselves are owned by Ryan – discreetly, of course, but still owned by him, all the same. He could have sent someone in to do it, too. Everyone knows how much you guys' hate each other, so it's not exactly a long shot. And out of those three pools, that's hundreds of people that could have done this. You're . . . you're going to be looking for a veritable needle in a haystack!"

Fontaine let out a curse, knowing that she was right. How had he not thought of that beforehand? So changing the subject, he heaved a sigh. "So, how much am I out?"

Dinah grimaced. "You really wanna know?"

Fontaine shook his head. "No, I really don't. Somethin' tells me the number's gonna make me sick to my stomach. But all the same, I need to know. I need to know how angry to get when I finally figure out who the fuck's been doing this!"

Dinah bit down on her bottom lip and when he turned an impatient glare up to her, she quickly grabbed up the nearby notepad and pen. Scribbling the number down on it, she showed it to him. Fontaine's complexion to that of curdled milk and for a moment, he really did seem like he was going to be sick. He slumped back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands. "Great . . . _fuckin' _great!" He muttered before shaking his head. He sat there for a moment, thinking, before he spoke, his voice low and even.

"Do me a favor, okay? Go send a pneumo to Ryan. Ask if he's going to see Cohen's play tonight." Dinah furrowed her eyebrows in confusion then.

"Uh . . . I'm sorry for asking, but . . . any particular reason why?" She asked, and Fontaine glanced up at her and grinned.

"'Cause if he is, then we're goin' to the theater tonight, doll."

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><p>Even up on the surface, Dinah had never seen anything as beautiful and exciting as Rapture's Fort Frolic. Shining and loud, the marble floors and expansive shops, casinos and venues chock full of men wearing dapper, well-fitted suits and women in their glitzy flapper dresses and chunky, expensive jewelry, Fort Frolic was nothing the likes of which Dinah had ever seen before. Laughter and constant chatter was commonplace and upon arriving, the sheer prospect of finding Fleet Hall seemed like an impossible, almost Herculean feat. It never seemed to fail to awe her, no matter how many times she walked it's glittering halls.<p>

They continued on their swift path through the crowd to the sparkling glass door leading to the Fleet Hall Theater, Doogie and Max moving those out of the way who didn't immediately scramble to get out of Frank Fontaine's way. Dinah, dressed in a thigh-length sparkling sapphire dress the likes of which she hadn't seen or worn in a very long time (And courtesy of Frank, Max had told her, rather gruffly, when he handed it to her that afternoon as she sat at her desk typing up a memo for the Finance department) walked alongside Fontaine. Clad in a well-fitted black suit, his muscular arm was draped rather snugly around her waist. She heard the interested titters and whispers that erupted through the crowd around them, and knew that the strange, beautiful woman accompanying Frank Fontaine to the theater that night, was going to be the most talked about thing for a good day and a half starting that coming morning.

"Ever been to Fort Frolic before, doll?"

Dinah smirked. "I worked at Eve's Garden and Pharaoh's Fortune before coming to you, remember?" She asked, and Fontaine chuckled.

"I mean, on ya _off_ time."

She shook her head, not hardly noticing when he pulled her closer to him so that she could avoid knocking her hip on the banister of the grand staircase that lead upwards towards the theater. Her hand appeared on his chest and for a moment, she allowed herself to marvel at the sheer amount of muscles that flexed underneath whenever he moved. Quickly, though, she took her hand away and barely caught the flicker of an amused smile on his face as she answered him.

"If you're in Fort Frolic, it stands to reason that you have money to frivolously throw away. I don't have money to frivolously throw away. So no, Fontaine, I'm never in Fort Frolic." She answered him and then quickly added before he could speak: "Is this off the clock?"

She could see the grin on his face out of the corner of her eye but didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing she had seen it. "This isn't a date, if that's what ya wonderin'." He answered her as they entered the crowd of people lumped around the door of Fleet Hall. Atrocities or not, Sandor Cohan's plays nevertheless drew quite the large crowds, probably because of their infamous controversial topics and scenes.

She noticed Frank give a nod to Doogie and Max, and they melted away from the crowds and into the shadows. There, they were out of the way but could still keep a good eye on their boss and his secretary. A few laughing and clearly half-drunk women, barged past her, shoving her into the indomitable wall that was Frank Fontaine, and she scowled as she almost lost her balance due to the sky high heels she was wearing (again, courtesy of Frank, this time delivered by Doogie). Fontaine stumbled backwards a step or two with the sudden onset of her weight, drawing her closer against him as he did so. She could only imagine the scowl on his face as well, but judging from the warm press of his hand on her ass, he wasn't _too_ angry.

Dinah gave a laugh as she gently extricated herself from him. His arm didn't leave her waist, though, and she didn't press. "Yes, well, normally, Mr. Fontaine, a guy takes me on a few dates before I let him feel me up!" She joked and he chuckled. With any other man, she would have been more angry at the feel of his hand on her ass – more outraged that he would even _think _of touching her there without her permission first. But she needed Fontaine, and with Fontaine, she rather liked the feel of his hand resting there.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. With big crowds, that tends to happen."

Her next words were spoken on a flirtatious tone: "So . . . if this isn't a date, then what is it?"

For a moment, when Fontaine didn't answer her, she was so afraid her skills at flirtation were so rusty, that he simply ignored her. Fontaine, however, was merely staying silent until the crowd had thinned enough to where they could move forward deeper into the theater. They were nodded through the crowd by the young man standing in the ticket booth and with an arm still looped around her waist, steered her down a hallway towards the elevator that would lead to the second floor. Doogie and Max were following at a respectable distance behind them and would no doubt follow up on the elevator after them.

"In public, Ryan and I are good friends. We have dinner together, we go to the theater together – our businesses operate pretty much in sync with the other's. In private, however, we can't stand each other and only get together when we want somethin' from the other. Tonight, is one of those nights."

She gently furrowed her brows in interest as they stepped onto the elevator. "What do you want from him tonight?"

The elevator reached the second floor before he could answer her. The doors slid open seconds later with a soundless fluidity. They found themselves standing at the head of a slightly dimmed hallway lined with shining and golden mahogany doors. The door at the far end, however, was flanked on either side by black suited men - Ryan's men.

Fontaine smiled genially at the two men who did not return the smile, as the elevator started rumbling back down to the first floor. Doogie and Max would be up at any moment and would take their places alongside Ryan's men. The thought that they had their own guys watching out for them, made her feel better. From the way Fontaine had described things, him and Ryan didn't get along _at all_ and she loathed being in a situation where Ryan would have bodyguards, but they wouldn't.

They started moving down the hallway when the elevator began rumbling up again. His voice lowered substantially. "Nothing, for now. But I do need to scope him out – see if he's maybe behind the guy who's been stealin' from me. That'll come after the show, when we're at dinner."

"And how are you going to do that?" She asked, and he shot her a grin.

"I can tell when people are lyin' to me, doll. Call it a talent honed by years and years of bein' out in the real world. And Ryan . . . well, let's just say Ryan isn't exactly the best liar in the world. He's gotta lot of tics and I know every single one of 'em," He glanced down at her again. "Anyway, I needed ya with me as a cover."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion now and she glanced up at him in the same emotion. "A cover?"

Fontaine nodded. "Ya my date for the evenin', doll. I knew the chances were good that Ryan was gonna bring his own girl with him, so I thought it'd be prudent to bring one of my own, too. Actually . . ." He trailed off and gave a laugh and a smug smile that he shot down to her. "Yeah, ya could probably call this a date if ya wanted to."

The door slid open then, and they stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind them. Chuckling, flirtatious laughter, and cigar smoke filled the air with a cloying haze, and through that haze, Dinah could see that two people already occupied the luxurious space – a man and a woman. The man had a head of thick dark brown hair streaked with iron gray while the other possessed thick, wavy blonde hair the color of honey. The woman was also noticeably younger than the man.

"Mr. Ryan, sir, your guests have arrived." One of the black suited men announced before turning and silently leaving the box. The older man got to his feet and turned to greet them. A welcoming smile immediately spread across his face as he did so, although there was something else there that Dinah couldn't ignore. It was a look of thinly veiled hatred and disgust. This man _hated _Fontaine with every fiber of his being, and from what Dinah had heard, the feeling was damn near mutual.

People were terrified of Frank Fontaine – that much Dinah knew just from having and overhearing casual conversations since arriving in Rapture. No one feared Ryan like they did Fontaine. She supposed that was something that Ryan had no choice but to feel jealous over. She would, anyway, if she was in Ryan's shoes.

"Ah, Frank, how have you been?" He asked, still managing a beam as they shook hands. Dinah noticed Ryan's quick wince at Fontaine's strong grip, however, he did a good job of not showing it. He simply replied with a gracious smile as he returned his shake.

"I am well, thank ya, Ryan. And thanks for meeting me on such short notice," He grinned then – charming and completely unlike the Fontaine she had been around, that she almost had to do a double take – as he pulled Dinah closer to him. "My girl here's never been to a Sandor Cohan production before and I knew ya'd know when the next one would be. Just our luck that there was one showin' tonight, huh?"

Ryan gave another tight smile and a nod before he turned his eyes down onto her. Quickly, they appraised her, taking in how expensively Fontaine had dressed her up, and again, she noticed a subtle look of disdain that appeared on his face. Either Ryan _really _liked blondes or he was completely unimpressed by her. She felt herself unconsciously move closer to Fontaine, who either readily allowed her to for appearances sake, or didn't really take notice.

Ryan nodded and his look of disdain disappeared, only to be replaced with a smile of welcome that was at direct odds with the look he had given her earlier. "And who _is_ this lovely young lady, Frank?" He asked, and Dinah pinned him with her tightest smile as she stuck out her hand. Fontaine introduced them as they shook. His handshake was limp and cool – as if he was expecting you to kiss the back of it instead of shake it. No wonder he had flinched when shaking Fontaine's hand. She could only imagine the taller man's grip.

"Andrew, this is my girl, as well as my new secretary, Dinah Snow. Dinah, this is Andrew Ryan himself. Ryan is the great and rather illustrious founder of this great city, and does he not like to make a point of hammering that home to whomever he meets!"

Ryan chuckled and inclined his head to her. "Good evening, Miss. Snow." He spoke in way of a cordial greeting before holding his hand out to his companion. Smiling, the woman got to her feet and when she moved to stand beside Ryan, Dinah couldn't help but widen her eyes in shock. Jasmine Jolene? She knew she had been Ryan's so-called 'girl' down at Eve's Garden, she just didn't . . . she never figured Ryan would be one to be seen in public with a stripper, mistress or not!

She smiled and batted her eyelashes rather prettily at Fontaine. "Frank, good to see you again!" She crooned as she held her hand out to him. Fontaine smiled that same charming smile of his, and grasped her hand for a moment before inclining his head to her and releasing it.

"Jasmine . . . it is good to see you again, too."

Their greeting to each other had been so . . . _familiar_. It was almost as if they were intimately acquainted, and Dinah felt an unaccustomed flare of jealousy in her gut at the sight. Smiling tightly, she placed a possessive hand on Fontaine's chest before garnering the blonde woman's attention by leaning partly into the space that separated them. She heard Fontaine chuckle at her unexpected possessiveness, and suddenly, the weight and heat of his hand on her lower back, seemed much too suffocating.

"Hello there, Jasmine. Long time, no see!"

Jasmine's eyes shot onto her then – a little angry that she had dared to break up her intimate greeting with Frank Fontaine, although Dinah didn't miss the look of thanks Ryan sent her. Seems he too had picked up on the camaraderie between the two of them, as well, and felt the same flair of jealously. Dinah, however, had a little bit more of a reason to be possessive. She had come down to Rapture for a reason and she needed Frank Fontaine's help. She couldn't get Fontaine's help, if other women like Jasmine stood in front of him batting their eyelashes and wanting to push her out of the way and set her plan back God only knew how long!

Jasmine observed her for a moment before the look of anger disappeared, only to be replaced with a look of surprise. "Dinah? Dinah _Snow_? Now, what on God's green earth are _you_ doing here?" She asked, and Dinah smirked.

"Didn't you hear? I'm Frank Fontaine's girl, _and _his new secretary. It's good to see you again . . . I suppose." She spoke, and Jasmine gave a jerky nod as a look of disdain that could have been the twin of Ryan's, appeared on her pretty face.

"I didn't realize Frank here was interested in ex-bartenders and working girls, now. Must be getting sick of mixing his own drinks." She spoke with a flirtatious laugh but Fontaine merely cracked a smile. His eyes were on Dinah and the sudden twitch at the corner of her lips, waiting at how she was going to react.

"Oh, well, I think I do a little bit more than mix his drinks, if you get my meaning!" She spoke with a sticky sweet smirk and this time, didn't react when Fontaine's hand trailed down to rest on her ass. "But, really, Jasmine, how are you? I haven't seen you in forever, but I assume you still drink your regular amount of five cocktails every night you have to work," An innocent look appeared on her face then as a look of pure rage appeared on Jasmine's. "But, you know, I never judged. Quite obviously, it is _so_ hard taking your clothes off in front of men every night for money!"

Fontaine coughed into his fist but she could see the grin that threatened to split his features underneath that fist. Jasmine opened her mouth to say something but a fuming – likely humiliated Ryan – announced that the play was to start at any moment and they should take their seats. The three of them nodded (Jasmine's nod a little bit stiffer than Fontaine and Dinah's) and Ryan escorted Jasmine back to their seats. Dinah moved to take the seat the farthest away from the blonde bimbo, but Fontaine's hand hooking around her elbow, kept her in place. He lowered his head to her, his tone hushed.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" He asked, and she gave a nonchalant shrug.

"I never liked Jasmine. She's way too pompous for a bimbo who strips her clothes off for a living – at least I was a bartender and allowed to retain a little bit of integrity. And beside . . ." She shot him a sticky sweet smile. "Your hand on my ass told me you were quite enjoying yourself. Is that to be my treat for whenever I please you?"

She meant her words to be baiting – to show him that she had a mind _outside_ of what he ordered her to do – but Fontaine surprised her by simply smiling. He nodded. "Oh, it was beautiful, Dinah. In fact . . ." He leaned down even further. "I could kiss you right now."

Dinah gave a scoff of laughter as she slapped him on the chest. "Down boy. We have a rather . . . _eccentric_ play to watch. And _you _have some scoping to do."

Her irritation now gone, Fontaine continued to smile in amusement as he offered her his hand to help her down the steps to the seats. She gave him a thankful smile as she took it. His hand was large and warm and positively engulfed hers as she moved to take the seat the farthest away from Jasmine and which would entail Fontaine being in-between her and the other two.

They took their seats and immediately, Fontaine snapped his fingers. An usher stepped forward and held out a box of Rapture's finest cigars. He took one and allowed the usher to light it. As he was waiting for the cigar to catch fire, another usher appeared with a tray of stacked cigarettes. Dinah gave him a smile of thanks as she picked up a cigarette from the tray. Ryan scowled, and she ascertained that he himself wasn't a smoker, unlike the three people currently in the box with him, for Jasmine also held a cigarette in-between two of her fingers. He kept his head down, however, head tilted to whatever Jasmine was saying and seemingly ignoring them. Dinah, however, knew good and well that he was very much paying attention to them and everything they did.

Her eyes widened when Fontaine reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and took out a lighter, where he lit her cigarette for her. Jasmine's eyes darted onto them at the movement, and they narrowed for a moment in suspicion or jealously, Dinah didn't know. Whatever the case, however, she would have to watch her throughout the show and be a little bit friendlier with Fontaine than she felt comfortable with at that moment. Ryan might not care to observe the PDA of his mortal enemy and his "girl", but Jasmine _certainly _would take notice if they weren't as friendly as a couple should be with each other while in a Fleet Hall private box. And true to her thoughts, Ryan glanced over at them, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he quickly took them in. Her heart gave a pound. Fontaine didn't act like he noticed the two's suspicious looks, which meant that Dinah would have to do something herself. She'd be damned if Jasmine would be their little whistle-blower all because she was jealous of something that wasn't really there!

Her inner monster broke out into an evil grin then, as it hatched it's nefarious plan. Placing a hand high up on his thigh, she leaned over him while holding the end of her cigarette in the flame of his lighter. Cheeks hollowing, she took a couple of puffs. He made sure it was lit, before he snapped the lighter closer. She remained leaning over him, however, and his smile grew a little bit bigger when he caught on to what was happening. Her brow arched questioningly. He mentioned he could kiss her a few minutes ago. Well . . . why not?

His hand leaned up and slid around the back of her neck, bringing her closer to him. Opening his mouth slightly, she grinned and gently blew the smoke in before he pulled her into a sensual kiss. His fingers threaded through her hair, holding her in place. His tongue darted along at her lips, tasting her but not actually entering her mouth. Hers did the same and while they met and twisted around the other's a little bit, the kiss was still surprisingly chaste. This was a kiss born of necessity, not want or need.

Although she could still readily admit that Frank Fontaine was a damn good kisser.

Breaking apart, he murmured: "Good enough, ya think?" and she gave an overly flirtatious giggle in response, and nodded. Jasmine sat back in her seat, thoroughly beat – her suspicions blown to smithereens, while Ryan rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat in disgust of such wanton behavior. Fontaine lay his arms across the back of her chair and the both of them sat back in theirs, thoroughly smug. Good. At least they wouldn't have to worry about _that _anymore.

"What's the name of the play?" She asked as she scooted closer to him, her head appearing on his shoulder while his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It was nothing, though – a continued show for two people they were here to fool.

"The Titillation of Saint Nicholas. He's the Catholic patron saint of prostitutes and if the papers are to be believed, this is a very . . ._ lewd_ show. All, of course, in true Sandor Cohen fashion."

Dinah nodded in understanding as the lights in the theater dimmed to an almost pitch blackness, allowing a bright floodlight to suddenly appear on the middle of the scarlet colored theater curtain. It was through the parting of this curtain that a man, average sized but wearing the thick cake pan makeup of an old vaudevillian, stepped onstage, where he then introduced himself as Sandor Cohen moments later.

"Cohen is well known for bein' Ryan's lapdog. If you ask me, though, he seems more than just a simple lapdog . . ." Fontaine whispered to her loudly and in response, they heard Ryan hiss back good-naturedly – _far _too good-naturedly for a man sitting there with his mistress:

"I heard that, Fontaine!"

Chuckling, Fontaine returned his eyes to the stage, where Cohen was now absent. The heavy curtains were now peeling away, however, revealing a beautiful water-colored background of a bright forest.

Dinah tried - although rather futilely - to keep her attention on the production like the three people she was sitting with were, but through the dim lighting of the theater box, she found that she could very rarely take her eyes off of the man sitting beside her and who she was so easily lounging against. Fontaine was reclined rather lazily back in his chair beside her, his massive body as lithe and languid as a reclining panther . . . long legs stretched out before him like a dream . . .

"Ya know that it's rude to stare, right, doll?"

Dinah jumped at hearing Fontaine's amused voice in her ear and heard him chuckle moments later. She glanced at him, hoping he could not see the hot blush that burned across her face at being found out she had been ogling her boss. "I was _not_ staring! I was _trying_ to pay attention to the show!" She hissed back, and Fontaine grinned as he leaned down slightly.

"Ya know, I used to be a stage boy at an old vaudeville theater in my younger days." He told her quietly, and with hard eyes, she turned a firm glare onto him.

"I am trying to watch the show, Mr. Fontaine. Do you mind?" She asked him tartly, and he inclined his head as he gestured towards the stage set before them.

"No, not at all, Dinah; I just thought I'd start a little light conversation since ya had seemed so bored a few seconds ago!"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Fontaine, I – oh _my_!"

Dinah's eyes widened and her hand appeared at her mouth as the lead actor suddenly dropped his robes, revealing his completely nude form on stage in front of everyone. Seconds later, the secondary male actor did the same. "Are they . . . oh _God_, Fontaine, they are, aren't they?"

Dinah grimaced and from her left, she heard Ryan chuckle as Jasmine gave the same gasp of shock that she had given. Fontaine chuckled, as well. "Told ya it was supposed to be lewd. And since Cohen is of the homosexual persuasion, this doesn't shock me, at all. Although . . . I am kinda jealous of the lead actor's . . . _assets_."

Blush inflamed Dinah's cheeks as she slapped him on the chest again. "Oh dear Jesus, Fontaine – _really_? Two men are doing . . . _that_, on stage, and your sitting here jealous because one of them has a bigger dick that you do?"

He gave a bark of a laugh. "Well, there ain't many men in Rapture who can stake the claim of bein' bigger than me, so . . . yes, I am."

Her mouth fell open in slack-jawed amazement. "And _how _do you know that?"

Fontaine gave a wolfish grin and opened his mouth to answer her but she closed her eyes and shook her head. "You know what? Never mind, I don't want to know." She spoke before returning her eyes onto the play. She shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Let's just . . . get through this."

A husky chuckle appeared in her ear. "Don't worry, doll. I'm very much a straight man." He murmured, and Dinah let out a laugh.

"Good to know, not that it's gonna get you anywhere with me, but . . . whatever, I guess." She hoped her tone was sufficiently standoffish to him. However, blush nevertheless lingered on her features. She found herself wondering just how . . . _big _Fontaine really was, despite herself, before deciding to just throw caution into the wind.

Dinah leaned into him, eyebrows furrowing in interest. Fontaine lowered his head as well so that he could better hear her without disturbing the others. She pointed to the lead actor. "Just as a point of interest . . . just _how _much bigger is he then you?"

Fontaine adopted another wolfish grin. "Now, Miss Snow, if ya don't stop wonderin' how big my cock is, then I'll have to sue you for sexual harassment and gross mental anguish!"

Dinah let out a bark of a laugh that immediately earned her a mean look from Ryan and Jasmine, but a continued grin from Fontaine. She shook her head. "Something tells me, Fontaine, that one of your favorite topics of conversation, _is_ your cock!"

He let out a snort of laughter before lowering his head again. "Please, I'm not that shallow. And just for the record, he's not that much bigger than me, actually. But I am large enough to make you wet just by thinking of it."

Dinah scowled and returned her eyes onto the play before them. She heard him chuckle as he relaxed beside her. "You're _so_ incorrigible." She spoke and could see the grin on his face when he spoke:

"Then why are ya workin' for me, doll?"

Her next words, less hushed than she thought, caused his eyes to snap onto her. "'Cause I need you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the absence, I've had a little bit of writer's block with this chapter. Thankfully, I worked past it and I know what path I'm going down now for sure. Whew!**

**A.P. Reich: Thanks for the review! Here's the latest chapter - hope you like :)**

**Heartless demon wolf: Thanks for the words of support - I love receiving them. Here's the next chapter - hope you like :)**

**- Nagiana**

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><p>Crystal Bentley had been Dinah's best friend since the two first arrived in Rapture on the same day. She was a dancer at Eve's Garden and had been one of the first people (the only person, in fact) that had positively <em>trashed<em> Jasmine Jolene's private dressing room when she first got Dinah fired by insisting she was stealing from the cash register. She was a tall, willowy woman with kinky blonde hair and a thick British accent that leaned more towards Cockney than any other British accent like Doncaster or Welsh. She was stronger than she looked, and quite clearly was the 'Kick Ass and Ask Questions Later' kind of person when she was pissed. _Which _she had been when she had trashed Jasmine's room that night.

"So, a little birdie told me you have a new job!" She spoke, somewhat cheerfully that afternoon, as they strolled down the glittering corridors of Fort Frolic. Fontaine was busy down in the Fisheries solving a "problem" with Doogie and Max, and told her upon arrival at his offices that morning, to take the day off. He then slid a couple of hundred bucks her way and told her to buy herself something nice at the Fort.

She did. She bought a great many things with her boss' money that she was sure to grab his attention. And a few records from Rapture Records and a couple of Cohen pieces that she bought in anticipation of the much better apartment she was hoping to rent in the future. She thought of them as pre-housewarming gifts towards herself, and Crystal had readily approved of them. For a woman with strict feminist leanings (and who ironically worked as an exotic dancer), she had heartily approved of her friend spending her boss' money, although at first, she didn't ask _who _her boss was. If she had known right off the bat, then, she probably would have urged her to spend even _more_!

Dinah gave a small smile as she glanced at her friend. They were on their way to lunch now, Crystal holding onto Dinah's bags from Sophia's High Fashion Salon while she juggled her three Sandor Cohen paintings under one arm. "Now who's this little birdie you speak of? I mean, I have an _idea_, but . . ." She trailed off, and Crystal couldn't help but grin.

"Jasmine came in the other night practically spitting hellfire and brimstone. I've _never _seen that woman so angry in my life! When Georgie went up to her trying to get her to calm down and explain what was bothering her, she immediately goes off into a tirade on how good-for-nothing Dinah Snow was the secretary and . . ." She paused at this and a small, amused smile appeared on her face. "_Lover _of Frank Fontaine." She turned a politely bemused look onto her then. "Lover? _Really_, Dinah? Out of all the men in Rapture, you choose _Frank Fontaine _to go heels to Jesus with?"

Dinah released a scoff of laughter at her words, although she had to wonder if Crystal had ever _seen _Fontaine before. He was a man she was pretty sure _a lot _of women would be willing to go heels to Jesus with. "I'm not sleeping with my boss, Crystal. He was invited to Fleet Hall by Ryan for one of Cohen's productions. He invited me along because he had it on pretty good authority that Ryan was bringing his own girl and he didn't want to make it awkward if he didn't bring his own date. So he brought me and we went undercover as a couple. We kissed once and that was simply to get Jasmine off our backs and make our appearance as a couple even stronger," She shot her friend a smile. "That's it."

Crystal gave a smile and a scoff of her own laughter. "Doesn't sound all that innocent to me. Was it date?" She asked, and Dinah remained silent at that for a moment before speaking:

"He . . . said I could consider it a date if I wanted to." She spoke and this time, Crystal gave a bark of a laugh.

"Well, is he at least a good kisser?"

Dinah's smile broadened somewhat. "It wasn't anything showy or anything, but . . . from what I experienced, yes it was _very _good. But really, just by looking at the man, you can tell he's very . . ." She trailed off, searching for the right words. "Well, at least pretty good, in bed."

"But you haven't experienced it?"

Dinah shook her head. "Not yet."

A shocked look came upon Crystal's face then. "You . . . not _yet_? What do you mean, not _yet_?"

Dinah gave a shrug. "It's what it sounds. I haven't slept with Fontaine . . . _yet_."

"How can you even consider it? From what I've heard of the man, he's a fucking narcissistic _arsehole _with a chip on his shoulder the size of Russia! Why would you want to sleep with that? In fact, how could you _bring _yourself to sleep with that?" Dinah scowled.

"I came to Rapture for a _reason_, Crystal – a very _important _reason. And if I get Fontaine in my good graces and manage to _keep _him there, then I can accomplish my goals all the more easily. He's got money out the nose, power enough to make Andrew _Ryan _wary of overstepping him . . . I need him. It doesn't matter what other people think of him – it doesn't even matter that _I _think of him! I want to do what I came down here to do and then move on with my fucking life. And if sleeping with Fontaine on a semi-regular basis, furthers that goal, then awesome!"

Crystal stayed silent upon the end of Dinah's tirade and when she spoke again, her voice was quiet and concerned. "It's just . . . he's _dangerous_, too, Dinah. I mean, like, _really _dangerous! We have men come into the Garden every night from the Fisheries and the labs with stories of that man and _none _of them are good and _all _of them are scared shitless of him!" She shook her head as her hand appeared at her collarbone. "Do you know what he did to the last guy that crossed him? His name was Harvey Masterson and apparently, he had been a rat placed in the Fisheries by one of Ryan's goons to collect evidence on Fontaine's smuggling ring. You know what happened to him when Fontaine figured out who he was? He was found skinned like a deer and hanging from a lamppost in 'Pollo Square with a sign hanging around his neck saying: "Good Try, Ryan"."

Dinah shuddered at the thought but nevertheless remained steadfastly determined to stick with her plan. There was no one else in Rapture who had the connections she needed to get her job done. She'd just have to majorly watch her step around Fontaine.

"Just promise me you'll be safe, hun." Crystal asked, concern still lacing her tone, and Dinah gave a tight smile and a nod.

"I mean . . . I can't promise anything, but . . . I _can_ say that I will be as careful as I can." She told her and Crystal nodded, accepting her words, but not liking them, all the same.

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><p><em>"Liza . . . Liza, where are you? It's time to go, honey – daddy and I are already all packed up!"<em>

_ "_Mommy_! Daddy, help!"_

_ The crashing of waves on the sandy bank . . . the screaming of seagulls in the air mimicked the screams of both her and her daughter. That guy . . . _shoving _her into this . . . this _submarine _like thing._

_ Dinah remembered letting out a scream of terror._

_ "Ren! Ren, fucking _get her_!"_

_ "Liza! Liza, baby, I'm coming! I'm _coming_!"_

_ "_Liza_!"_

_ "Get your _fucking _hands off of her!"_

_ "Ren!"_

_ "Get your -!"_

_ A scream split through the air again as everything faded to black._

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><p>"Di . . .<p>

"Nah . . .

"Dinah . . .!

"Dinah, doll, snap out of it!"

Dinah gasped and jerked her head up and out of her thoughts when Fontaine's deep, irritated voice finally managed to split through to her. Her eyes widened in fear at the sight of him leaning over her desk with a scowl on his face. She shot to her feet, jumping to apologize. He nodded as he straightened up. "It's fine. Just . . . don't let it happen again." He muttered and she blushed and nodded as she moved to follow him into his office. Her brows furrowed as she watched him walk ahead of her. Something was off. He was favoring his left a little more than the other and that scowl he had given her seconds ago, seemed like it was about to become a permanent fixture on his face for that day.

"Are you okay?"

He gave a grunt of acknowledgment at her question. "I'm fine."

"Fontaine, your favoring your left leg over the other."

"It's _fine_. I just pulled a muscle workin' out yesterday night, that's all."

Dinah balked somewhat, not able to deny that it was a pretty sound excuse. Obviously, Fontaine _had _to work out to keep that muscular physique he had going for him, but even still . . . a man _like_ Fontaine, who (it was safe to reasonably assume, anyway) worked out more than three times a week and who knew what he was doing, would not do something that would risk pulling a muscle. Pulling a muscle and limping, would also draw unnecessary attention to him that might suggest he was weak. Fontaine wouldn't like that. Either way, though, there was something deeper.

She crossed her arms as he pulled out his chair and plopped down into it. He didn't release a sound of relief like normal people would have, but the muscles forming that scowl, relaxed, somewhat. It was watching this subtle relief that it finally occurred to her that he hadn't been flanked by Doogie and Max when he came in this morning, either. Her eyes widened and she took a step closer. "Where's Doogie and Max?" Fontaine stiffened at her words and she gave a stiff nod. "I knew it. What happened at the Fisheries?"

"The two knuckleheads are fine. Suchong's got 'em in his private labs, workin' 'em over. It was . . ." He trailed off and nodded to the wet bar. "Get me a drink, will ya, doll?" Dinah pursed her lips but moved to do as she was told. Quickly, she moved to the wet bar and retrieved for him his usual tumbler of bourbon before moving back over and placing it none-too-kindly on the desk in front of him. He smirked at her display of irritancy, and gave a shrug. "Shit went down and we ran. A plank of the boardwalk gave way underneath me, I fell, and I guess I . . . sprained something in my leg. But that's it. We got away, we're fine -"

"Well obviously you're not fine, Frank, because Doogie and Max are under Suchong's care and _you _can't -"

Fontaine gave a grin. "You just called me Frank." He spoke, interrupting her, and Dinah's eyes widened as she came to an abrupt halt. Her cheeks pinked.

"I didn't . . . I'm sorry, Fontaine, I didn't -"

His gaze softened for a moment and he shook his head. "Don't apologize, doll. Its just . . . surprisin', that's all." There was silence for only a moment before he spoke again and when he did, his tone was lighter - the scowl a little less deeper. "What are ya doin' tonight?"

Dinah recoiled slightly before giving a shrug. That was certainly a change of topic. "Nothing . . . that I know of, anyway. Why?" Fontaine nodded.

"Good. Ya wanna grab dinner tonight?"

Dinah couldn't help but give a smile. "Is this a date, Mr. Fontaine?" She asked, and he shot her a look but there was a ghost of a smile on his face, nevertheless.

"Ya want it to be a date?"

Dinah shrugged. "You're the boss."

"Last time was a date."

"Was it?"

"Did you not consider it one?"

"I don't know. I never said."

"_Dinah_ . . ." Fontaine spoke, his voice quietly admonishing, and she gave a small smile.

"Okay, fine, I did. Does that change things?"

Fontaine gave a shrug. "Not really. I just think it's interestin'. Meet me at the bathysphere around seven? We'll go to the Fort and get dinner there. Maybe hit up one of the casinos?" She gave a nod.

"Sure, sounds good to me. Should I dress up?"

Fontaine grinned. "Always."

Dinah nodded and turned around, where she began walking back towards the door to his office. She felt his eyes on her the entire time and couldn't help but smile. An official date with Frank Fontaine . . . things were moving faster than she thought.

She was at her desk, working on some dictation, when Doogie and Max came limping into view. Her eyes grew wide as she jumped to her feet. "Jesus boys -"

"Frank in?" Max asked, interrupting her mid-sentence, and she nodded.

"Y-Yeah, all afternoon. Are you guys okay? Did Suchong release you?"

They ignored her and marched into Fontaine's office with nary a knock. An uneasy look appeared on her face as she slowly sunk back down into her chair. Something was wrong . . . the way Doogie and Max had marched towards his office . . . what was going on?

Things were calm for a while but eventually, she found herself jumping to her feet again upon hearing an enraged roar come from within Fontaine's office. There was a loud crash and immediately, Dinah was scrambling out from around the desk and trotting towards the door. The door fluidly slid open for her and what she found herself in, was the middle of what best resembled a war-zone. Frank was standing by his wet bar, angrily throwing bottles across the room accompanied by curse words and choice phrases. They hit his safes with crashes, spilling alcohol and glass shards everywhere. Doogie and Max were standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to him, sheepish, almost ashamed looks on their faces.

"Are ya two _really _tellin' me . . . Goddamnit, ya two, ya couldn't . . . _fuck_!"

"Um . . . anything I can do?"

Dinah's voice came out as a squeak and Doogie and Max immediately turned around at the waists to gaze at her, looks of surprise on their faces. Fontaine ceased all movements and turned to gaze at her as well, his face expressionless but hard. "What are ya doin' in here?"

Dinah swallowed hard. "I heard the crashes and you . . . I was worried, I didn't -"

"Did I tell ya to come in here?"

Dinah gazed at him in bewilderment for a moment before frantically shaking her head. "Well, no, but Fontaine -"

"Get out, Dinah."

"Fontaine -"

"_Get out_! And don't come back in until I call ya!"

With a frantic nod, she whirled around on her heel and quickly moved towards the door. She brushed a lock of her hair out of her face as she moved, happy that he couldn't see the blush that was covering her cheeks or the harsh, angry tang of tears building in her eyes. That'd be the last time she ever checked in on him 'cause she was worried!

"Uh, boss, with all due consideration, don't you think she could help?"

Dinah came to an immediate stop at the hesitant sound of Doogie's voice, and slowly turned around, only to see Fontaine standing there gazing at him, wide-eyed. "Come again?"

Doogie heaved his shoulders. "I'm just sayin', she's smart, she's capable, she looks like she could talk herself out of a sticky situation if it arose . . . she could help us in this."

Fontaine stood there and rubbed one hand over his mouth and chin. "Explain."

Doogie released a breath as he stepped forward. "We need someone on the inside, right? Maybe she could go in and be our eyes and ears. They've never seen her down in the Fisheries, and as far as we know, they don't even know she exists - they think Maude still works here! We could . . . we could give her some kind of cover – she's the new bookkeeper, she's the new head of fuckin' security – I don't know, but we can think of somethin'! Either way, she could be useful."

Fontaine stood there for a moment, clearly thinking things over, before heaving a sigh and bowing his head. He buried his hands deep in front pockets. "Dinah, come back here, please."

After standing there and blinking stupidly for a moment, she found herself moving over to him. Slowly mounting the steps to his desk, she fought back the instinct to recoil at the strong alcoholic scent that permeated the surrounding space. Instead, she stood there and waited as he sat down at his miraculously dry desk. He sat there for a moment longer before eventually speaking: "We have a pretty good idea on whose been embezzlin' from me." He started out, and she nodded.

"Okay . . ." She spoke, slowly, and he nodded.

"The thing is, we can't reach him because for right now, he's . . . frustratingly untouchable. No one in the Fisheries is willin' to give him up. Which means one of two things: one, he has them more scared than I do, which, quite frankly, boggles my mind, or two . . . they're protectin' him and know I can't get rid of every one of them without raising some pretty influential eyebrows. That's where your gonna come in."

Dinah shifted uneasily from foot to foot for a moment, unsure where this was going to lead her. "I'm goin' to provide ya with a cover story – as best as I can give ya. Ya goin' to go down there and under the guise of this cover story, figure out everythin' about this guy. What he does, what his schedule is, does he have a family, where he _lives_, if possible. And better yet – and more importantly – find out if this goes deeper than just him wanting to feather his nest."

Dinah stood there for a moment. "How long . . . how long will I have to do this?"

Fontaine gazed at her rather expressionlessly for a moment. "For as long as it takes. This shit's gettin' resolved."

She pursed her lips before raising her head and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "What about things around here? How are they going to get done?"

Fontaine gave a shrug. "Hopefully it won't take too long, so I think I can handle things until ya get back. Don't worry, ya'll still have ya job when ya come back."

Dinah nodded, a breath of relief issuing past her lips as she did so. "Okay . . . I'll do it. But you have to do something for me, too." She spoke, and Fontaine's eyebrows rose, as did Doogie and Max's. No one _ever _asked something from Fontaine in return for doing something he _ordered _them to do. This was certainly new.

"Oh, really?" He all but growled, and she nodded, trying her damndest to quash down the uneasiness she felt at that growl. "And what would that be?"

She smiled. "Since I have to do this, then, understandably, tonight's dinner is off. I'll have to keep as low a profile as possible until I go down there. So, when I get done and I nail this guy for you, then you'll owe me one Hell of a drink."

Fontaine relaxed and smiled at that. He chuckled. "Oh Dinah, doll, if ya do this for me, I'll owe ya more than just a drink!" He spoke with a grin and a wink and she couldn't help but return that grin. Jackpot.


End file.
